


The Lake

by ythmir



Category: Midnight Cinderella (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-10 04:57:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13495400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ythmir/pseuds/ythmir
Summary: It’s winter again in Wysteria and the Winter Ball is about to take place. Everything has been prepared by Giles and the Princess Elect. They’ve done this before. This is is the third Winter Ball after all since the princess was selected. So why is he anxious?





	The Lake

Giles Christophe woke up with a start, his leg jerking against empty air as he gasped. His whole body felt as if it had dropped from a height and yet he lay perfectly still. It took a few moments for him to realize that he was lying on his side and that the the prickling sensation in his arm was because he had his hand in-between his head and pillow. It was just a dream, a faraway memory that has not crossed his mind in years.

And that in itself, felt strange.

Most nights, Giles did not dream. It was as if all that he needed to do was to lay on his bed and pull up the covers; with just a few winks, he would have already dozed off. Few men of similar political positions could be lulled into a peaceful slumber so quickly. Some were haunted by memories, others by sin, and most found it as a kind of just chastisement that they were deprived of that one natural human act that could make them forget the things they had done or had failed to do, even if temporarily.

It was not that his life was uneventful or unmemorable. Hardly. The duties that came with being the Wysterian Royal Adviser were more than enough to keep him constantly moving from one side of the palace to the other. Besides, it would be naive to think that any person who was the right hand man of any monarch would not have skeletons in their closet. Giles would never admit it just to anyone but he had his own. And then some.

Only, Giles found it impractical to lose what precious sleep he could have over a few secrets. He always made it a point that he should sleep whenever he could because sleep meant he was rested and being rested meant more work could be done. The moment one task was finished, two more sprang in its place. Any sort of delay would only end with him spending more time than necessary on a certain project and that meant time lost. Time lost in turn meant more time would be wasted on paperwork. And more time wasted on paperwork meant less time with his beloved. And he simply will not have that.

So sleep was never an issue nor was it ever restless for Giles.

It should not be.

Especially not tonight.

Ardiana was snuggled behind him, her face pressed against his back, arm comfortably wrapped around him. It was one of those rare nights when they could meet, and both of them had made the most out such a golden opportunity; a precious night when neither of their duties interfered with their romance. Pleasantly exhausted, they had spent the last few conscious moments snuggling and Giles vaguely remembered whispering into Adriana’s ear before closing his eyes.

So why did he dream that dream?

He took two deep breaths, three, trying his best to calm down his pounding heart. It was slamming against his ribs and he worried that its tremors would wake Ardiana up. He closed his eyes, concentrated on his breathing, but the moment his vision was shrouded by darkness, the memories returned to him.

Coldness.

Sinking.

Giles forced his eyes open and frowned.

Sleep, it looked like it, would not return to him tonight.

Slowly, he extracted himself from the bed, careful not to wake Ardiana. She had had a long day of doing nothing but help him in the preparations for the year’s Winter Ball. She deserved the deep slumber. He watched as her chest rose and fell in a steady and even rhythm. Then he realized that he had been staring, and he smiled, and he felt himself grow warmer at the thought of being captivated by her even at her most vulnerable. Giles reached out towards her, lightly caressing her cheek, tucking stray hairs behind her ear. She looked exquisite.

He pulled up the covers over her before he made his way to the table near his window where he usually kept the stronger liquor.

It had been a while since had dreamed that dream.

He was seven when it had happened.

The Crawfords were hosting a week-long party in their lakeside villa to celebrate their twins’ seventh name-day. It had been the talk of the entire Court months before it had even happened, and when the invitations were finally distributed and one found its way into Lord Christophe’s hands, Giles had been more than ecstatic. He and the twins, Leo and Alyn, were as close as brothers and the idea of spending a week with no tutors or training had excited him. He had been unable to talk of anything else and had been beside himself with joy until finally he had burst through the Crawford’s large oak doors to be greeted by none other than the twins themselves. Louis and Sid, then called Lloyd, had followed after the twins and after much excited talking and abrupt planning, they did what seven year olds did best during a sunny winter day.

They had played in snow.

It had started with running. A lot of running. As far away from the villa as was possible. And all it took was an offhanded remark and the races had become snowball fights and from there they began making forts. It had snowed overnight according to the twins and there was much material even for a bigger than life snowman, or three. When they were too tired to do anything else, they panted and they teased and they laughed, oblivious to any sort of obligation except those that needed immediate attention. Like hunger. Only when Alyn had declared he was ravenous (and they teased him for using such a word) did they began their march back to the villa.

What made the Crawfords’ lakeside villa the ideal place to host winter parties, and the envy of the entire court, was because it stood at the perfect distance to the edge of a huge lake. Short enough to walk but far away enough for anyone who desired to be painted with a picturesque view. At the other side of the lake was a forest, where game was plenty, and the eastern end of the Sierra Madre, which perpetually covered in snow and acted both as a scenic display during sunrise and a breaker against harsh weather.

Not that any of this mattered to children then. But as they thought of fireplaces and warm cocoa, and how they could sneak an extra cookie or two before dinner, they had to pass by the lake. And Giles Christophe, seven years old then, with his head full of dreams and his soul untouched by heartache, had paused to take a good look.

He had been to the villa numerous times before but never during winter. He had stared at the vast frigid expanse, captivated by the stillness that had now replaced the boats and the people and the birds. He could still remember watching a hawk dive in at incredible speeds before soaring back to the sky with game in its claws. But this memory of the hawk did not belong in the winter and at that specific moment, with their coats and their boots and their gloves and scarves, there had been no signs of life. Only quiet. Only tranquility. As if someone had placed a blanket of white to mourn the death of a landscape.

The change had looked eerie to him.

Part of his brain had told him that there was still water underneath but when all he could see was endless unmoving blue and black lined by white streaks, it had seemed impossible. He had wondered if any animals were even able to break through the ice to fish or if the fish underneath were still alive for that matter or if they were as frozen as the surface.

If there was moving water at all, only nature and common sense verified this -a tiny voice in his head - because to the young Giles, the frozen lake was not just a lake.

It was a yawning void. It was an empty night sky. And he had stood on the edge and imagined himself dancing over the horizon.

How much insight or precaution could a seven year old child be expected to carry? Enough to know the difference between a wasp and a bee, of course. Enough to know which stone would fit well into a slingshot. Enough to know the perfect weight of a perfect snowball for a perfect shot. Enough to know about the myths and the gods and their funny and complicated relationships with mortals. Enough to know that one shouldn’t fly too close to sun.

Or skim above the surface of a void for that matter.

And he was Giles Christophe. He knew all this and more. He wielded a sword when his peers could only jokingly poke with sticks. He was the eldest child of their family; heir to the Christophe name; favored student and talented protege. And though he was just seven, he was told that he would become a knight one day and serve the crown valiantly like his father, and his father’s father before him, just as all Christophe sons had done as far back when the First Kings had no names and the old gods whispered to men in the trees.

Much was expected from him.

But he was young. Far too young. Tales of his future valiant deeds were nothing more than stories told to him before he went to sleep; promises of glory and duty and service the crown could hold his attention for only as long his tutors spoke of them, forgotten instantly the moment another topic was brought up. And though he might be a Christophe, and he was being shaped rigorously to fit into the future envisioned for him, Giles was still like all children his age.

For one, he had never been shy about exploring the world around him.

“Don’t.” Louis had said even before Giles could voice the idea that had formed inside his mind.

“Don’t what?” Giles had asked, changing course and heading towards the edge of the lake. He had then squatted down and brushed his hand over the ice. Nothing had changed. Only the depth of the lake stared back at him. He then pressed both hands down, and for a brief moment, he had thought he could feel the water moving, a slow rhythmic pulse underneath his palm.

“I’ve never walked on this much ice before.” Sid had confessed, crouching beside Giles.

“It’s not easy.” Louis had added with a solemnity that only a seven-year-old could do. “You could slip anytime.”

“I don’t slip.” Sid had scowled.

“Father says the ice is frozen enough to walk on last night.” Leo had taken a confident leap towards the lake. He wobbled for a second but then stood proudly with his hands on his waist.

“How did he know?” Louis had asked, dubious still.

“You measure it by sticking in long sticks.”Giles had replied, remembering how he had watched the servants in his home pierce the frozen rivers with metal poles.

“Eight inches is perfectly good for standing on.” Alyn sat down with a loud plomp at the edge.

“That’s almost a foot of ice!”

“Yeah.” Leo had said. “Which makes it safe.”

“Ice is never completely safe.” Louis had cautioned.

“Let’s go back already.” Alyn had whined. “We can explore more after we’ve eaten.”

But Alyn’s pleas had not reached his friends, at least not Giles in particular. Giles had already made up his mind. He took a step. And then another. Half of him expected it to be slippery or that he would lose his balance at first like Leo had. Thankfully, his feet had stayed where he placed them. Sid had followed suit, and Louis could only sigh before resigning himself and joining Alyn on the snow.

“I call a dare!” Sid had suggested. “The person who gets further away from this point gets all the dessert!”

“What’s tonight’s dessert?” Giles had asked.

Chocolate cake.”

“I’m in.” Leo was already walking away with determined steps.

“Idiots.” Louis had tried to reason but then what was caution really to a band of brave seven year olds?

Leo, Sid, and Giles began moving away from land, inching their way cautiously on the ice. Sometimes they slipped and sometimes someone was shoved and they would laugh at their own frightened yelps before moving on.

Thoughts of prudence were only at the very edges of Giles mind. He kept his eyes on the ice most of the time, reminding himself of what his father taught him, but the entire dare had been a thrilling and different experience. He had begun imagining himself as having conquered the endless black void. The thought had made him giddy; it was as if he was ready to glide on a pitch black night sky.

It had felt surreal.

Thus with each foot further away from where they started, the frozen lake looked more and more inviting, and less and less a perilous black arena.

It had seemed almost like a fairy tale.

Almost.

Leo had been the first to back out. “Actually,” He had said, stopping in his tracks. “We should all go back. The ice doesn’t look as thick here.”

“Coward!” Alyn had taunted from the back. Leo had smoldered from where he stood but did not move.

“Yeah, I don’t like this either.” Sid had said, much to the rest of the group’s surprise. “Giles, don’t take another step.”

“Not gonna fall for it.” Giles had shot back, stepping forward with purpose.

“Don’t be daft!” Louis had shouted from the edge, standing up.

“Not even Father went this far.” Leo had explained, turning to Giles. “Let’s go back.”

But Giles was never one for turning back. And even as a kid, he would not voluntarily give up his dessert. He had looked from Leo to Sid, motioned towards Alyn and Louis,then said, “We haven’t even walked more than a few feet!”

“Don’t be stubborn.”

“Well this better not be some sort of trick.”

“Let’s just go!” Leo had insisted.

“Not until you forfeit!”

“You stubborn ass.” Sid had said.

“I’m being practical.”

“And an idiot for chocolate!” Sid had pressed, turning back and heading for the edge.

There had been a moment of indecision. Giles had watched as Leo and Sid started to inch their way back towards safety. Then he had glanced back at the white expanse behind them - at the trees and the shadows and the mountain. He looked down at his feet, at the ice, at the darkness below, and then he took a step.

“Giles, what are you doing?” Alyn’s anxious voice had cut through the chatter and the others turned to look at him.

“Giles, you moron!”

“That’s far enough!” Leo had warned him. “Come back!”

But Giles had not listened. Instead, he had continued walking on the frozen lake just as he had been taught; cautiously and unhurriedly, checking the ice before putting in his full weight. He continued until he could no longer hear Sid’s or Leo’s warnings, or Alyn promising him two slices of cake. Twice he had thought of stopping and turning back but the memory of his father’s expectations made him remember the myths that he had been taught; he remembered what he knew and who he was, and how he was bound for great things, and this prevented him from listening even to his own inner reason. So he had continued until there was only whiteness in his vision and stopped only when he was certain that he had walked farther into the lake than any other of his friends could ever dare.

He turned back to them and waved.

A hushed silence first greeted his success. And then Alyn had whooped, with Louis and Leo clapping for him. Sid had shook his head and raised his hands in defeat but he had been smiling.

Giles had grinned back. And he had felt a surge of emotion in his chest, a warmth that started from his heart and spread throughout his body. It felt good. It felt delightful. It could have been the best memory that Giles could ever have of what little good memories there were left.

But then it felt cold.


End file.
